


Messed Up

by jeniac



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Comedy, Frottage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Season 3, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeniac/pseuds/jeniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's on about that plan to steal their product and sell it to the recovering addicts in his support group. Walt's onto him, but Jesse's being a stubborn little shit about it. Inevitably, things escalates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messed Up

Now, Walt has always considered himself a tranquil man. 

Whether or not the occasional acquaintance or family would back him up on that is irrelevant.

But none the less, he considers himself a tranquil man, and with the basic ability not to act on impulse and emotion when it's thrust upon him. This is fact. But right now, after having taken time out from his day to sit down and talk some common sense into Jesse; to stop him from making an _enormous_ mistake, and Jesse's simply chosen to be everything _but_ cooperative?

Walt might just consider himself a little bit less than that.

Jesse's _refusing_ to admit to having stolen their product, but Walt's sure of it, there's no other logical explanation. Not to mention what a shit liar he is, both wide-eyed and unable to make eye contact for even five seconds straight. 

The kid's sweating, for Christ's sake, and what's with his voice? It's going up into these strange, bizarre pitches. It's either that, or he just gets angry like some kid, refusing to further explain his own arguments when questioned. Honestly, is he even _trying_? 

No.  Jesse's blatantly lying him right in the face, assuming that he's going to get away with all this.

What an absolute idiot.

It had _started out_ civil enough; a slightly tense atmosphere from separating on the wrong foot the other day, when Walt had decided to call Jesse out on it, but it had started out just _fine_. Walt had told him that he wanted to talk about Gus, the lab, and thus snaked his topic into worry. How he doesn't want things to slip out of control, that they-- how _Jesse_ \--might be in danger.

It's not _his_ fault that Jesse takes everything so personally.

And as for work, they still do it every day like nothing had ever even happened, like Walt hadn't mentioned any of his suspicions about Jesse some time after they'd chased that fly,  and like Jesse hadn't gone dead-eyes and denied it. But there's certain changes to their behavior, a sort of passive-aggressive kind of deal.

Jesse's not happy with Mr. White's obviously faked habit of hanging around longer than usual just to keep an eye on him while he's smashing, boxing up and weighing the meth. Mr. White then walks over, every goddamn day, to double-check that everything's looking the way it's supposed to.

It's obvious for Walt, or well, it's obvious for both parties here, that they're being fake and lying left and right, forcing themselves not to break the ice (pun absolutely intended) and just punch each other. But ever since Walt started this? There's _been_ no less product than expected. No _odd_ amount of "spillage". 

It's funny how Jesse can't come clean and tell him the truth, despite the obvious evidence against him.

And today he'd decided not to drag out on it any longer. He and Jesse might have a slight problem with communication sometimes, but he'd be damned if he can't make Jesse see clarity in something as _obvious_ as this.

He'd put on his clothes this morning and drove his car over to Jesse's house. When Jesse wasn't there he'd texted him, told him that he "Need to talk." and "Can you meet?" and to his surprise Jesse must have had a boring day because he replied with an "Ok." and the location he was at right then and there. Not that it should be all that surprising considering what a stoner and a slacker he is. 

Okay, so Walt might be in sort of a bad mood right now. Jesse's been sober for weeks. But to his defense, he's got every right in the world to be.

 

Because that's how he ended up here, in the passenger seat of Jesse's car watching, disgusted, while Jesse keeps spewing out one lie after another, piling them up like his money must be doing. Money that Walt had worked for. _His_ money.

Jesse's just finished his grand performance, a long and unconvincing attempt at defending himself. It's like talking to a brick wall, having the brick wall trying to convince you it's a fence.

"Yeah?" Walt can't stop smiling. _God, what a stubborn little piece of shit._

He pushes Jesse hard enough to make him hit his head on the window, now slouched against the car door.

Jesse stares at him, any guilt or doubt he'd had all gone. "What the _Hell_  is your problem?!"

"What is _my_ problem?" Walt yells, pushing him again. " _You_ are my problem!"

Jesse pushes him back. "Yeah, well tough shit! Why? Stop being so goddamn _needy_. What I do is none of your creepy, stalker-ass _business_ , get it?"

Walt snorts. He must be joking.

"Needy? _Me_? Without _me_ you couldn't even make it _a month_ without screwing up in _God knows_ what ways! Honestly, you have quite the record of it. It's remarkable. Impressive, really."

Jesse scoffs. "I don't _need_ you anymore, so screw you! It's not my fault you're so freaking obsessed with me."

He pushes at Walt's chest once, hard. "I ain't doing a _fucking_ thing." He hisses through his teeth.

"Mmm, is that so?"

Jesse huffs out a laughter. " _Yeah_." He says. And then, stupidly, he adds;

"What are you gonna do about it, asshole?"

 

And just like that, Walt punches Jesse square in the face.

Jesse falls back. He brings a hand up to his lips, can see blood on his fingers. His fist hits Walt's jaw immediately, and that's all it takes for Walt to throw himself over him and they start fighting each other.

It's raw and brutal, yet the most awkward fight ever. There's scratching, clawing, ripping, punching. Walt tries to poke Jesse's eyes out at one point, which results with a knee in the groin. Fists are thrown left and right as well as it goes with the limited space from fighting in such a small vehicle.

Walt grabs a handful of Jesse's hair and smashes the back of his head against the inner handle on the door. Jesse groans, swears, and Walt does it again and again, so Jesse puts two hands on Walt's chest then, grabbing his nipples through his shirt and _twists_.

It gives the expected result. Walt yells, flying back dramatically.

"What the _Hell_?"

Jesse should have expected what happens next. He should have seen that shit coming miles away. But with his head pounding like crazy and a dizzy-ass view he barely has time to register what the hell's going on before Walt's got his hands on him, snaking them underneath Jesse's shirt and grabbing a hold of his nipples. 

It's not before Walt twists them that Jesse's quitepainfully aware. 

 

Oh, my God. That shit _hurts_.

 

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" He twists and turns where he's stuck underneath Walt. Walt twists them harder. Jesse grabs his wrists, trying to pull him away.

"Jesus, knock it off, knock it off!"

It's ridiculous. Immaturity at it's worst. Walt would've laughed if he wasn't momentarily filled with nothing but rage and faint amusement. He clamps the nipples between two fingers and pinches them as hard as he possibly can, and then twists them back and forth.

"Oh, fuck--" Jesse yelps in pain, then gasps in something else entirely.

That _did not_ only hurt. He panics, grabbing at Mr. White desperately.

"Okay, enough, that's enough!" He tugs on Mr. White's wrists, and to his relief he let go of him. 

Walt leans back, then smacks him right on the chest, punching the air out of him.

"Ow!" Jesse glares, both of them trying to catch their breath. "What was that for?"

"I don't know. Emphasis?"

Jesse snorts. _What an asshole._ He looks at Mr. White, noticing a bunch of bruises along his jawline, one right above his eyebrow, and his clothes are all wrinkled and messed up. So he got some punches in as well. Points to Pinkman.

Shit seems to have died down, so Jesse takes it as a green light to speak up.

"Yo, would you mind getting off--"

"Are you going to stop?"

"What?"

"Stealing our product." Walt says. "Are you going to stop?"

"I haven't stolen shit."

"Jesse..." Walt sighs, pressing his lips together. If Jesse is going to play "tough shit" then so be it.

"Fine."

Jesse snorts. " _Fine._ "

"Then I'd like an apology." Walt smiles, like he's actually expecting one.

"For _what_?"

"For stealing our product."

"But I _didn't do it_."

"I don't _care_ what you think you did or did not do."

"What are you, _high_? I'm not going to give you an _apology_. If anything, _you_ should be giving _me_ an apology!"--

Walt scoffs.

\-- " _You're_ the one that went all Mike Tyson on my ass!"

Walt smacks him on the chest again.

" _Ow_! See? Jesus." He pushes Walt away from him and moves to sit up. Walt's pushes him back down with a hand on his chest. 

"Watch it, or I will."

Jesse laughs, "What? You gonna spank me?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Yeah, bet that's easy job, homo."

_Smack!_

"Knock it off!"

"Tell me that you aren't going to steal more of our product. They _are_ going to find out, eventually. It's inevitable. And they wont let it go easy, trust me, they're going to come after you, Jesse. And when they do I'm going to be the one dragging you out of this whole mess that you've put yourself in."

Jesse looks at him, frowning. 

"Why? Honestly. Who's asked you to?"

Walt doesn't have an answer for that, doesn't want to go down that road, so he simply smacks him again.

"Ow! Alright, sorry!"

"Sorry for what?"

"You want the truth? I'll give you the truth."

Walt waits. Jesse leans in, speaking slowly and clearly;

"I didn't. Take. Shit."

Walt simply looks at him for a moment, genuinely giving Jesse a second to regret the dumb mistake he just did.

He doesn't. Of course not. He simply looks right back at Walt, eyes shining like he's challenging him. Walt sighs. He pushes Jesse down on the seat, straddles him awkwardly, pulling Jesse's shirt up--

"No, fuck off! Don't even fucking--"

\-- and twists his already sore nipples with all he's got. If Jesse's gonna act like a man-child, then he can get treated like one. Not that it makes Walt himself one. No, of course not. Jesse swears, struggles, getting right back to grabbing at Walt's arms again.

"You _dick_ \--" He breathes out.

"You're sorry?"

Jesse glares at him, then spits in his face. "Screw you."

Walt pulls at the nipples, Jesse bucks.

"Mmhm. Don't tempt me, remember? What was it? _"Bet that's easy job"_ Was that it?"

Walt sticks with the pinching motion, rubbing them back and forth and back and forth again; a technique that's apparently proven to drive Jesse mad with pain. He smiles, because it's all so strangely amusing somehow. "It's an easy task, Jesse. Even you should manage it." 

Walt pinches them harder, and Jesse punches the dashboard of the car. Shifting in his seat, Jesse realizes that he's growing hard.

"Fine, fine, fine, I get it, I get it!" Jesse yells, a little bit hysterical and sudden.

Mr. White stops, so Jesse takes the opportunity to grab his shoulders, trying to drag his lower body away from where it's underneath the dude.

"Alright? I get it. I shouldn't have done it or whatever..." He says, sitting up a bit. He meets Mr. White's eyes. "I mean, even though I _didn't_."

Walt blinks, looking at him. "So you're sorry?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah, yeah."

"So, say it."

Jesse opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He knows he's being stupid right now, but he can't bring himself to admit dick to this asshole. He won't give Mr. White that, no freaking way.

Walt looks at him hopelessly, like _are you fucking serious right now?_   then twists Jesse's nipples painfully hard.

"OW!!" Jesse tugs on Mr. White's wrists, going _stop stop stop stop,_ trying to worm his body away from him.

His voice is embarrassingly high pitched, going even higher when Mr. White twists them harder. Jesse jumps, trying to push the dude away because that seriously hurts,he can even feel his goddamn eyes start tearing up.

"Stop, stop, stop!" And then; "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

But the asshole _wont stop_. He only twists them _harder_. Jesse swears and bucks in pain.

"Come on! What the hell, man! I said I was sorry!"

"Well, did you _mean_ it?" Walt says, twisting them left.

"Yes!" Jesse screeches like he's dying, punching at his wrists.

"Mhmm."

Walt let go, and Jesse sighs out in relief, covering his sore nipples, mouthing a ridiculous string of _ow, ow, ow, ow's._

"Oh, quit being such a baby."

Jesse stills, glaring at Walt while pulling himself up, exhausted, to a semi-sitting and slouched-out position.

"You freakin' psycho." He breathes out, wiping dried blood from his lower lip.

Walt rolls his eyes and then, looking down at his own hands, his jaw falls slightly open.  _Oh._  He clears his throat, awkwardly letting his hands linger on Jesse's sweaty chest.

"Yeah, I'm, uh... my bad."

Jesse looks up at him, scoffs. "Yeah, _you're_ sorry now?"

"I didn't mean to _hurt_ you."

"Oh, bullshit!"

"I _didn't_!" Walt hisses out.

"Yeah, yeah, right."

Walt sighs, then gently grazes a bud with his thumb. Jesse winces, jerking away from the touch.

" _Don't_." He slouches back down, closing his eyes.

"Don't touch me."

When Walt speaks up again his voice was calmer, more collected.

"I didn't. I am willing to admit that I, uhm... might have crossed a... barrier here, of some sort."

Jesse smiles sarcastically. "Oh, you don't say?"

Walt glares at him. "I _might have_."-- He flattens his palm out over a nipple, then smacks him lightly. Jesse groans.

\-- "But you still had it coming."

Jesse glares back at him, but there's no heat to it. Walt looks down, staring at what he's done to the boy, all red and beaten up like that. He gently rubs his thumb over a nipple, observing the way it stays put and hard under his touch. Jesse's chest heaves, and he lets out a shaky sound. 

"Okay, so... can you, like, get off of me now?"

He moves to get up but Mr. White pushes him down with his hips, knocking the air out of him. He tries again.

Mr. White pushes him back down. Again.  _What the Hell?_

"Yo, Mr. White..." 

Mr. White looks at him. Their eyes meet and suddenly something, whatever it is, but something's _definitely_ shifted in the air. The car feels smaller, the walls seeming to close in on them.

"Jesse..."

Jesse closes his eyes. Had Mr. White noticed...? Oh, God. Oh, come _on_.

Walt leans over him, and Jesse backs up cautiously in his seat.

"Yo, don't even--" Walt carefully places a hand on Jesse's shoulder, pushing him back down, and with his other hand he pinches a nipple and slowly rubs it between two fingers.

Jesse keens, pushing at Walt's chest. 

"Mr. White..." Walt rubs it harder and Jesse bucks up against him, his hard on brushing up against Walt's crotch.

Walt groans, grabbing the back of Jesse's head with one hand and pushing their lips together, kissing him hard. He presses himself against Jesse's body, listening to his muffled complaints against his lips, his shaking hands pulling uncertainly at the fabric of Walt's shirt.

Walt kisses him harder, sliding the hand on Jesse's chest down between them and to the front of Jesse's jeans. He squeezes him, rubbing him slowly, kissing him with more force, pushing Jesse into it with the hand in his hair. Jesse slips out a throaty sound, spreading his legs. He thrusts against Walt's hand, and then he's kissing him back.

Walt squeezes him harder and Jesse moans, his body pushed up against the car door.

"Fuck," He whimpers, weak and needy. Walt groans, moving against Jesse's thigh, makes a mental note to tell him _"I told you so."_  sometime later.

"Fuck, Mr. White--"

Walt leans back, kissing Jesse's neck and smiling faintly when Jesse hides his flushed red face in the crook of Walt's neck, moaning while Walt's hand is kneading and massaging the most beautiful sounds out from his pretty little mouth, and it's so hard not to think of all the possibilities, every single scenario he could have with that mouth on him.

He moans at the idea, sucking marks on Jesse's skin anywhere his mouth can reach. Jesse tries to pull away, probably aware enough to know that marks are a very _stupid_ fucking idea but Walt pushes him back down, holds him there with the weight of his body while he sucks a particularly hard mark right on Jesse's neck.

Jesse gasps, biting his beaten up lip. " _Mr. White_."

Walt sucks him harder, kissing him everywhere, then sucks some more. There's something dangerously thrilling about Jesse calling him by a name of such authority, even with his hands holding onto Walt's shoulders like this, fucking himself into the palm of Walt's hand like he can't get enough.

Jesse presses their lips back together, kissing him over and over again. Walt slides his tongue inside, moaning into his mouth while he unzips Jesse's jeans, sliding his hand over the thin fabric of Jesse's underwear. He rubs him faster and faster, biting down gently on Jesse's lower lip before leaning back to look at him.

"Come on, Jesse, you gonna come?" He breathes out. Jesse moans, pushing up against his hand.

Walt licks his lips, running his fingers through Jesse's hair. "You gonna come for me?"

Jesse nods, can't seem to stop. He bites his lip again, and it's the cutest thing Walt's ever seen. He ups his pace, rubbing him hard and fast. 

Jesse's hips jerks up, his hands forming into tight fists in Walt's shirt. "Holy shit..." He sobs out, gasping.

"Come on, Jesse, you can do it,"

Jesse twists and turns, bucking into Walt's hand. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna--  _oh_ _god_..." He makes that cute, needy sound again and Walt can feel his own dick twitch and swell between his legs.

Jesse's  _so_  hard for him, straining wet and solid against his boxers. He wants it  _so_  bad, and that thought is what sends Walt over the edge. He hurriedly brings a other hand down and unzips himself, shoving it down his pants and pulls his dick out.

He holds it out just in time to come all over Jesse's stomach, moaning, pressing the side of his face against Jesse's cheek, kissing him all over his neck.

Walt breathes out, grabs a slick handful of Jesse's hair, tilting his head back so that he can't hide his face. Jesse tries to do it with his arm, but then Walt takes his hand out from Jesse's jeans, grabs Jesse's wrist and brings both of their hands back down again, forcing Jesse to rub himself off, guiding him with his own hand. 

Jesse groans, tries to struggle because Mr. White watching him is about the most embarrassing thing he can imagine right now, but it feels so, _so_ good, and all he needs is a  _little bit more now_. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, spreading his legs wider, toes curling in his too big sneakers. Mr. White tilts his head back even more, and Jesse can feel his rough fingers in his hair, pulling at his roots. And he can feel Mr. White's eyes on him, watching him like this, can't even imagine what he must look like right now, fucking up against their hands, wanting to beg Mr. White to please just pull it out and fuck him already.

" _Oh my god._ "

He chokes on a moan, pressing himself against Mr. White's body and comes, pretends not to notice the shocked look on Mr. White's face while he cries out, realizes he must have said at least one of those things out loud. He pulls at Mr. White's shirt, moaning weakly as he rubs him through the aftershocks. 

His body goes pliant, and slowly, gradually, reality starts to sink in. Walt takes out their hands from the jeans, wipes his own on Jesse's leg.

He zips himself up, then Jesse, then pulls Jesse's t-shirt back down, flattening it out with his hands.

...

Jesse opens his eyes, looking up at Mr. White.

"So..." He starts.

Walt lifts his head up. "Hm?"

Jesse doesn't know what to say, settling on keeping his mouth shut as he slowly moves away from underneath Mr. White, dragging himself up in his seat. It's too fucking quiet in the car, and everything outside of it is too fucking loud. Cars passing by, people passing by. Laughter, talking, birds chirping-- it's all too much.

Shit became extremely awkward extremely fast.

"So, yeah, uhm... " Jesse can't even look at him, wants to sink down through the seat and disappear forever.

He fiddles with his shirt a little, cringing at the way it's all sticky and shit. He looks over at Mr. White, then down again, and then back up.

_Come on, yo. Say something._

Walt starts moving, slides back into his own seat instead of awkwardly hunching himself over the low roof of the car.

He licks his lips, seeming like he's about to speak up, and then closes them again.

"Mr. White--"

"Yeah, I should go."

Jesse blinks, then jumps on the idea immediately. "Uh, yeah. Sure. You said got like, things to do, and stuff, yeah?"

Walt clasps his hands together with a cringe-worthy smile. "Yes! Exactly. You're right." He opens the door, hands working a little clumsy and slightly panicked at the handle. He stumbles out the car. "Absolutely. I should get going and do... that. Yes."

"Uh, yeah, you do that."

Walt takes a deep breath, then bends down with one hand on top of the car and the other rubbing his own neck.

"Hey..."

Jesse's head jerks up. _Jesus. Just leave already._

"Yeah?"

"See... you?"

"Tomorrow. At work."

Walt licks his lips again, looking around. "Right. Of course." _Fuck._ He taps his hand on the roof, nodding.

"Sounds good! Bye!"

 

Jesse watches Mr. White go, walking hurriedly over the parking lot with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over like a newbie dealer walking past some cop car. He keeps watching until he turns at a corner and disappears among the lined up trees.

He sits up, straightens up, both hands on the steering wheel. 

Alright. Time to drive home. Chill a bit, try to come up with something to do that won't mess with his sobriety.

He's already been in the store. He's got some Funyuns. Could eat those up. Watch some movies. Play video games.

Yeah. It's gonna be sick.

 

He lets his head hit the steering wheel, the horn honking long and loudly. He feels sick.

 

_Shit._ He opens his eyes. _Shit, shit, shit._

How the Hell had he just... with _Mr. White_.

He leans back in the seat, running his hands through his hair, then covers his red face.

"Holy shit."

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in season three (an episode or two after Fly?)
> 
> Things to consider: I never write smut, and I'm not a writer. I'm just a sad, sad person. Leave a comment if u feel like it.


End file.
